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OR, A SHORT SERIES OF 

ESSAYS, MEDITATIONS, POEMS, ETC, 



BY 

MRS. FRANCES F. MATTESON. 



O'er sorrows long and sore I wept, 
Screen'd by an honest, humble pride ; 

For Pity, gentle maid, was deaf, 
And o'er our woes the world will chide. 

" The poor ye have always with you.-' 



R O M E i 

PICKARD & CARR, PRINTERS 

1852. 



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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, 

BY MRS. FRANCES F. MATTESOy , 

In the ClerlTTOffice of the District Court of the United 
States of the Northern District of New York. 



INTRODUCTION. 



My presumption in selecting the title for this 
little work was from the consideration of the cir- 
cumstances connected with its existence. 

Wearied with completing a volume which I was 
about to have published, I had determined upon a 
rest for my mind, thinking it might prove benefi- 
cial to my health ; and in the following four weeks 
this work, with the exception of the " Reminis- 
cences of Youth" and "Contemplating a Divorce," 
was consummated. The two poems above named 
were among the first of my feeble efi'orts. The 
only merit in them is the true picture of the cir- 
cumstances they are designed to portray, without 
any claim to beauty of illustration. Aware that 
Merit is a preposterous height for Genius to soar 
upon, yet, while her own unfledged pinions are 
free, may she not venture, even should not her 
talent multiply an hundred fold 1 

a2 



THE WILD POET'S REST. 



CONTEMPLATION. 

I LOOK not over space to blank 

That Time has left behind ; 
Yet on the present linger still — 

To future half inclined. 

Still, I would retrospective turn 
To gaze while memory thrills ; 

For something in the lurking past 
My heart can cherish still. 

I love to linger where those friends 
My aching heart have blest ; 

Where those I loved and cherished mosfe 
My youthful form caress'd. 

When all the sunshine of my youth 

Is shrouded in the past, 
Jesus will light my soul with love — 

My burden there I '11 cast. 
A 3, 



THE WILD poet's REST. 

Then shout Hosannah to the Lamb 
That bought redeeming love ; 

Christ for redemption shed his blood- 
'Tis registered above. 



REMINISCENCES OF YOUTH. 

I WILL tell you where learning first entered my 
brain, 

Where Fancy, so ruthless, first built her domain ; 

And I '11 tell you some truths — where I was first 

taught. 
And the knowledge from home stock I with me 

had brought ; 
And I '11 tell for learning how I made amends, 
For I labored for teaching and cost of my pens : 
Yes, for learning was scarce, and came hard, 'tis 

true. 
For I trod in the wild path as the natives withdrew. 
Orthography I learned from Webster's old book, 
Although it was pick'd up by hook and by crook ; 
Alexander's my grammar — yet here was my woe ; 
For, if I learned grammar, how could I spin tow 1* 
This book was my bane, and near took my life ; 
For to read it and study I kept up a strife. 

* The usual occupation of country maidens. 



REMINISCENCES OF YOUTH. 7 

Then writing was bad — should a girl learn to write, 
When she to some banquet her love might invite ? 
" Oh yes," said my father ; " she's our first-born, 

'tis true. 
And it will lessen the care that devolves upon 

you." 
For my mother had learning that turned to account, 
So in selling and settling she got the amount. 
My father in store had a very old book, 
Some heir-loom concern, from a very old nook ; 
There was in it waste paper, accounts, and the like, 
And for this old crony I made a bold strike. 
I first copied verses, wrote letters, and such. 
And of this old ledger contrived to make much. 
I was nurse to the children, the pigs often fed, 
And, for lack of a gardener, my portion I wed. 
I drove up the cows after twisting the yarn. 
And the sheep always safely I locked in the barn. 
Then, as evening approached, on some landscape I 

gazed. 
Till my head would turn giddy in wild Fancy's maze. 
Then I turned to my flowers as evening appeared, 
And next to the heavens all my energies reared. 
I fancied, like brothers and sisters and friends, 
Those stars had their pastimes — and I oft made 

amends 



8 THE WILD foet's rest. 

For some bright one, wliose absence for months I 

would mourn, 
And then would rejoice as the truant returned. 
I read of my Saviour in each herb and flower, 
And the glad song of nature was sung in my bower; 
For each bird that carol'd his wild notes so free 
Brought joy to my heart — ! 'twas music for me. 
At length all my fancies from childhood were 

changed, 
And through the green forests of wild youth I 

ranged ; 
Not reckless, or heedless, or thoughtless, in truth, 
Yd had all the wild fancies, if not follies of youth. 
I roved not regardless of thorns in my path ; 
Still I fled from their wounds and smothered my 

wrath. 
This love for all nature was a fancy of mine — 
A waif of delusion, and nothing sublime ; 
For the day was not distant, and forced its way 

through, 
When despair lent its pall to hide hope from my 

view. 
For I wedded, alas ! and sorrow was joined 
In the same list with gladness — and this wa^ 
purloined — 



Ri::\iiNisoENeEf^ of YouTir. y 

Little tliiuking, indeed, that I wedded witli grief, 
Yet the time left for hope, I must say, was but 

brief. 
All nature seemed changed : 'twas a wane harvest 

moon, 
And I oft fancied midnight approaching at noon. 
All nature seemed clothed in the rags of dismay, 
For the bright autumn tints were turned to decay. 
Then winter approached, so languid and drear 
That food, fire and bev'rage ne'er listed of cheer ; 
For the chill frosts of love had congealed all the 

soul, 
While sorrow had bar'd out affection's control. 
I sought for relief in the frost glist'ning air, 
And look'd to find hope in the solace of prayer ; 
But all nature seemed barren — the frost lock'd 

each rill, 
And the grand snow-capt forest waved proud on 

the hill ; 
The clouds roll'd on, sullen — the snow noiseless 

fell, 
And furnished a death-robe for forest and dell. 
At length April showers unlock' d nature's chest, 
And the flowers of May received their behest ; 
Yet deep boding sorrow hung over my head, 
.Suspended and dangling on one brittle thread, 



10 THE WILD POET'S TEST. 

My frail bark was launched on the broad stream 

of time, 
And the sure knell to future, was tolling its chime, 
In unfathomable depths, and no anchor for hope, 
Yet no buoyant heart with mine here could scope. 
I toiled on, regardless of fortune or fate. 
The victim of hatred, yet I could not hate. 
Soon I was a mother — then, in sad mingling train, 
Came my fondest affections and hopes to maintain. 
One dwindled away, while the other in might 
Grew — the pride of my soul, my joy and delight. 
While caressing this babe, my fancies oft flew, 
To the scenes when in years he to manhood had 

grew: 
I hastened through infancy, childhood and youth, 
And joyed in my heart that the paths led to truth. 
Yet often, indeed, my hopes met some blight — 
Still I nerved to my task, and brought in my 

mite ; 
I oft nursed in sickness, and tears often dried, 
Yet a cold sparing hand my own wants supplied. 
I was called Good Samaritan, though a mania 

behest, 
And though I oft nursed in sickness, the tasty I 

dressed. 



ESSAY, 11 

^^0 one talked of fashions, the next cheered with 

hope. 
For no sorrowful bodings with my mind's peace 

could scope; 
But oft 'twas my frail wish, outstripped by relief, 
Which would come quite unlooked for, but I must 

be brief, 

For this talking and thinking of scenes that's 

gone by, 
Brings pain to the heart and tears to the eye. 



ESSAY. 

Some strange presentiment prompts me to proclaim 
My injured innocence — 'tis not the love of fame — 
Fame o'er my cradle a misty curtain drew, 
To eclipse my glory e'er I admiration knew : 
Yet, love of Nature, which was by birth-right 

mine, 
Grew with my growth, and flourished at my prime, 
Each beauty of nature and of art I scan'd, 
And all the schemes for future greatness plan'd ; 
But sorrowing mishaps brimed my cup of woe, 
And to hide misfortune now, dismay may throw : 
I feel to condemn this unwary infamous blight, 
And with equal combatants would join in equal 

fight. 



12 THE WILD poet's KEPT. 

Nay, let me contend not with murmuring, fell des- 
pair 
For demons rashly beat the foetid air. 
Were the world all sunshine, it would bind us 

here too long — 
At least its trappings would our hearts enthrong. 
Sorrows are gentle schoolings for the eternal 

world, 
For those to whom brighter glory God will there 

unfold, 
Despair is the mother of many a darling sin, 
Dormant still gropes to let the tempter in, 
I glory in retirement, yet friends to save, 
I'd wake slumbering energy from retirements 

grave ; 
My life has much of joy not from social converse 

riven. 
But from cloudless obscurity which discloses heaven. 
If face brighteneth face, and friends reflect this 

sheen 
'Tis too bright for me and would create a spleen ; 
I would with equal lustre have all virtue shine. 
And all social intercourse, I would wish divine ; 
But varying scenes must varying truths impart, 
And learn us to know what leaves the head 

does not always reach the heart. 



ESSAY. 13 

Mankind are based on subtlety and skill, 
But reason and justice should our bosoms thrill. 
What fruit would grow from this vegetating state, 
If truth and justice on its branches sat? 
What matters if none do here imperial shine 
If they secure the glory that will prove divine ? 
But ah ! it is a matter, and more a boast than 

strife, 
That a goodly influence we portray through life. 
Worth on an eminence disclaims her regal sway, 
And shuns the greatness which she might portray, 
'Tis hers as captives to bind the most worthy good, 
And spread their influence as the deluging flood, 
Thus to raise the fallen, lend sympathy to distress, 
And their Maker's image on each heart impress. 
But pride and weakness are e'er checks upon the 

good. 
To steal from their precints this refreshing flood. 
'Tis weakness in a woman, in a man 'tis pride. 
The first we should pity, the other may deride. 
I feel this day, that I have wiser grown — 
Yea weaker and wiser, for every moment flown ; 
For faith keeps pace with all our hopes and fears, 
And on time's disappointment some new fancy 

rears. 



\i THE WILD POET\s REST. 

I feel the just accountability of time, 

That each month, each day, each hour may not h& 

mine. 
Yea, feel each burthened hour, o'erwhelm each 

other, 
With relentless power to become a mother, 
To force the young offspring on our fostering care, 
To be fraught for succession with some talents 

rare ; 
Feel too 'twere safer to abide in some Ion© 

haunts 
That fortune had defended from our various wants. 
Although through selfishness, we God's works 

would scan. 
In all his relations he is just to man ; 
And though at times some clouds may loom aboY« 

my path 
I shall not infer that I deserve God's wrath. 
I feel I owe it to universal will, 
That while scanned, that I as while scanning should 

stand still, 
And while o'er creation, I my contemplation 

throw, 
A generous sympathy through my heart should 

flow. 



ESSAY. 15 

I Jo not complain that I'm condemned by fate, 
To occupy the lengthened shadow of the great ; 
Enough that I still occupy a space, 
And in that occupation blessed with grace, 
With patience, though weak, and magnanimity and 

love, 
Each act of Omnipotence to still approve. 
I feel how sadly I have been condemned, 
Feel, too, some latent good is lurking at the end, 
For man is not in penance doomed to bow, 
Or tear from his heart his holiest vow. 
I would not envy, it would not bo brave. 
For envy in the humble would but show a knave ; 
Yet oft, like some avarice, swells a heart's desire — 
'Tis to be like the patient godly I'd aspire. 
And yield to God's grace to point my course. 
For kingdom, or righteousness, will not be taken 

by force. 
AVho would draw distinctions between love and 

hate. 
To see what nice discriminations fools can make ? 
Or who'll decide who trespass on this vast estate, 
He that with a rapture loves, or with a vengeance 

hates ? 
Although love is weakness, yet it vengeance takes, 



16 THE WILD poet's rest. 

And hatred, malignant, oft for faults entreats. 

Woe to the scourge that binds the human heart, 

And woe to the justice prejudice imparts, 

No vengeance lies in the decrees of God 

'Tis man to chasten with avenging rod. 

God throws His sunshine on the evil and on the 

. good, 
And in blest effusion sends the fertilizing flood. 

And although in chastising he may seem severe, 

At mercy's fountain He will still be near ; 

'Tis only justly he can chastisements deal, 

And through clouds and darkness He will love 

reveal. 

But we're moving onward to an humbler space, 

To yield the conflict to another race. 

I rejoice that God is the propelling power. 

That time and its changes are only by the hour. 

To-day we have, to-morrow is not in time. 

Till onward propelled, by the repeating chime. 

To all those changes I patiently submit, 

I am but an atom, my God is Infinite, 

Although much there is, we cannot comprehend, 

^Ye feel his wisdom will to some good portend. 

Let Christians all their daily movements scan, 

Are they conscientious between man and man. 



iiArrjNEss A\i) FiMi:\L).<riJi\ 17 



HAPPINESS AND FRIENDSHIP. 

Vain happiness ! for wliicli these toiling millions 
strive — how hast thou wrought thy votaries to 
deceive, arrayed in all the glittering pomp of 
wealth. Blessed with the signet ring of sure 
emolument, friendship may smile, and love may 
lend a richer hue to the radiant beaming hopes, the 
eye flash out its fire as if from heaven, lit up to 
rapturous blaze, yet if no glad response reflects it 
back, 'tis shorn of nature's gift. And who has 
sought the joys of earth, and did not find it vain 
to win them here below 1 who saw his wealth as it 
were to increase in heaps around him and found 
the happiness he prized ? and who that has in holy 
friendship bound his heart, that did not feel some 
link divide or chord relax that told him it was 
mortal ? Yea, vain are our hopes of happiness on 
earth. Of all the joys that prop our pining natures 
here, and buoy us up amid the world's rude tem- 
pest tossed, the glowing mind, prolific source, is 
surest solace. 

Fortune may frown, friendship may cease to 



18 

twine its loving tendrils around our hearts, the 
angry billows of the world's rude storm may surge 
about us ; envy, jealousy and hate may lurk like 
the deadly assassin, health wane, and all the ac- 
cumulated ills of life may cluster near. Yet, the 
prolific mind, sweet solace of our weary days and 
sleepless nights, like morning breezes, still play so 
listless o'er imagination's will; to warm to life 
that little hope that prostrate lies — yet, when 
aroused to feed on anticipation's joys, knows no 
purer sphere than within its own pent cells to rest, 
save to its God to soar; then, quiet turning, looks 
with admiration's holy, venerating love on all his 
works, with pure devotion which comes refined 
from thoughts that rush as armies come, yet quiet 
as the zephyr breeze that fans his humble brow, 
and wafts his prayer to God. 



THE rOET FlllE. 19 



THE POET FIRE. 

There's a beauty in all 

By tlie rays of that fire, 
Where Nature's rich promptings, 

The Poet inspire. 

The flowret may claim 

Admiration, 'tis true ; 
The gem and the casket 

Present something new. 

But the treasures of life 

Must come pure from the mind, 
By wisdom well guided, 

By truth more refined. 
t 
There's a bright halo sheen, 

In the Poet's true fire ; 
Which makes men and angels 

All strike the same lyre. 



20 THE WILD poet's REST. 



PRIDE. 

Pride's tlie greatest weakness we in man behold, 
Though man in God's image, yet 'tis plain foretold, 
Pride in our natures a larger share portrays, 
And all the purer qualities of the man outweighs. 
And yet, why wonder that man is prone to pride, 
When with true greatness 'tis so near allied. 
The good will o'er their labors exulting prove, 
They claim a share of unrequited love ; 
Yea, and the quaint, the meekest, quietest, best, 
Will seek applause, and on Pride's pinions rest. 
The village President in pride o'erlooks the town. 
And the Parson, for dignity, wears the richest 

gown. 
The Dandy, wisdom would by Pride portray, 
The School-master in Pride, rules with arbitrary 

sway — 
The Christian devotee, proud of his humble walk, 
And the loquacious Lawyer, proud of his saucy 

talk— 
The Physician, arrogant, boasts his cures to prove, 
And doats with pride on those his practice love. 



PRIDE. 21 

The Maiden's pride her toilet to complete, 

The Matron's proud that she is still discreet. 

Others have haughty Pride, to sin and vanity 

allied, 

Some from want of wisdom are with Pride supplied, 

Heir to such follies, man is vain to boast, 

When his redemption is at such enormous cost, 

With talent sufficient, to see all good, and prize, 

He feels it weakness to study to be wise ; 

But his better nature under sin was lost, 

And all his pure emotions as a tempest tossed ; 

Why wonder, then, a perverse self-conceit 

Should all the beauty of his life defeat. 

He grasps at the present, as temptation wills. 

And with rude associations his pure bosom fills ; 

Pride, envy, hate, and jealousy begin. 

Till the whole inner man is paved with sin. 

Ruder asssociations accumulate for wealth. 

Aspiring avarice, approaching near to stealth, 

With overreaching, grasping energy severe. 

Approached to deeds of daring without a conscious 

fear ; 

Some character from modest hints traduce. 

Others, more reckless, will follow up abuse — 

b2 



22 THE WILD poet's REST. 

But, Justice fills the measure of their designing 

cup, 
And in the pit for others, they are swallowed up. 
Oft when you see them to temptation chained, 
And of every virtue, find their bosoms drained, 
And no co-equal to the round of sin — 
Then hideous measures in the soul begin ; 
And floods of sorrow, oft o'er the conscience roll. 
Which, with access to sin, man cannot control. 
Then render aid, move the temptation straight, 
And with soft emotions the rude mind inflate. 
Be gently active, humble, yea, do not boast, 
For great profusion is to the subject lost — . 
First list of friendship,^then cjuiet reach the mind, 
From her secret depths, the heart must be inclined. 
But, when once led onward, 'tis like a train of 

thought, 
Swelling in floods of whate'er it may be fraught. 
Then gently guide, compress, within control, 
And sweetning the fountain, purifies the whole ; 
Onward, still guiding, this gentle stream improve, 
And you insure a harvest for lledceming Love. 



ANTICIPATION AND FRAILTIES. 

ANTICIPATION AND FRAILTIES. 

How oft in mind I soar beyond 

This world of servile toils. 
And through celestial'fields of love, 

Drink in eternal joys. 

Then sadly I respond again 
To all the, claims of earth ; 

Where joys unnumbered intervene, 
To give our sorrows birth. 

Yet disappointments, cares and strife, 
Attend our onward course, 

And all we love and value here, 
Is sunshine_^at the most. 

A season of sacrificing life. 

Of hope, disappointment, dread, 

With sorrow's daily round of care, 
And we are with the dead. 

How frail is life, more frail is man, 

And frailer still his joys, 
Which burst like bubbles in his grasp. 

Or cloy like childish toys. 



24 THE WILD poet's REST. 



ON THE NATIVITY AND CRUCIFIXION OF CHRIST. 

While in Jehovah's bosom Jesus was portrayed, 
And his future coming by jDrophets was essayed ; 
And when he to mortality, His Son consigned, 
And bowed to free will, not limiting his mind — 
What majestic meekness o'er this destination 

moved ! 
In magnanimity, He parted from the Son He 

loved ; 
Trusting mortality to shape His mind and will, 
And with Heaven-fraught beauteous love, his soul 

to fill. 
What signal consequence to maternity did Grod 

impart, 
When he consigned the moulding of a Saviour's 

heart? 
Bow woman, humble in reverence to God ! 
Thou hast been significant to receive his word 
No doubt he destined a mind supremely good, 
And in true wisdom, supplied a copious flood; 
For woman's sympathies were to Jesus given, 
And her true nature bore his soul to heaven. 



NATIVITV AND CKUCIFIXION OF CIlllIST. Zi) 

Nature always in His soul revealed, 
He was to his own unerring choice to yield. 
At his darkest hours, feel how His G-od retires, 
Puts forth no parent hand, grants no desires ; 
Lest the spirit in weakness to its earth allied, 
Should lose its true beauty, and from its greatness 

slide. 
See the meek Jesus, in sublimity portrayed, 
While in Gethsemane, he agonized and prayed, 
Then view him nailed to the shameful cross, 
And all the glory of his Father to him lost ; 
For God through holy love, and agony severe, 
Had fjuenched this halo by his flooding tears. 
And Jesus, despairing for the light of love, 
Called as if His mercy to his soul to prove, 
Koused his Almighty Father, and the rocks were 

rent 
With the true sympathy in his bosom pent ; 
Sun, moon, and stars, were instant veiled in night, 
Worlds stood in awe, as if convulsed in blight. 
But when 'tis finished, in milder strains broke forth, 
Heaven resumed its brightness, and the earth its 

growth. 
Then mourned they, those who loved him most, as 

man is mourned, 



26 THE WILD foet's rest. 

And in the new sepulchre they his corpse adorned. 
Watching by night, that none his body steal, 
For the mystery they did to some reveal, 
That Jesus should by his resurrection prove 
The true magnanimity of redeeming love. 
Behold these faithful sisters in sorrow come 
To mourn o'er Jesus at his narrow tomb ; 
But when they find the stone from off the door, 
And him that watched, they marvel sore ; 
But the angel, beckoning, bid them near approach, 
And all the napkins with their hands they touch j 
Joy fills their bosoms, that Jesus has arisen. 
And their redemption is complete in heaven. 
Then to the city this joyful news they bring, 
Proclaim to all, that Jesus is their King. 



A SEIVTJMENT. 

When those who possess the accomplishments' 
and facilities for occupying high stations in society,. 
stoop to ridicule the humble or unfortunate, they 
set themselves on a grade beneath those they 
would assail, whatever may be their condition. 



ANTICIPATION. 27 



ANTICIPATION. 

When anticipation ceasjsto inspire me 
And all within is gentle love and truth, 

While on meek pinions I rest my eiForts, 

Then throbs the impulse of my generous youth. 

With gentle steps and timid retreating, 

I steal me back to linger where. 
On Childhood's dreamy wanderings tiring, 

I braced my heart against despair. 

« 

Then moved with heaven-born inspiration, 

I hasten back to my theme again, 
And joyful from the world retiring, 

In social converse with myself remain ; 

And with a lively love of nature. 

Borne on by hope supremely blessed. 

When the quaint murmurings of life are ever 
I will claim a place where the weary rest. 



28 THE WILD rOEX's REST. 



MORNING CONTEMPLATION. 

FebruaPvY 1, 1852. 

The sun's bright rays, o'er floods of liquid 
light, is pouring its soft beams abroad to render 
genial all beneath its halo soft. And man is 
rushing forth to bathe in this warm sunshine, and 
feeds his soul afresh on all the luxuries of a health- 
ful morn. Blessed happiness below, if with a fit- 
ting hope, we do but rightly it improve ; and, as 
we seek employment for our hands, and hug to our 
frail bosoms hope of wealth, of life, of affluence, and 
feast our eyes on gains, return to God and man, in 
meekness, what to each is due ; and, with grateful 
hearts, and thankfulness subdued, from avarice 
free, pursue the great command of God, to earn 
our bread and amply provide for those he loves, 
whom he, in holy compliance with our eager wish, 
has trusted to our care. 

How blessed is man, how truly blessed when 
fell languor lets go her hold, and he feels braced' 
with all the force of love and duty to pursue this 
honest course. Blessed laboring man, how sweet 
thy toil, when with a conscious bosom thou art 
assured that God approves and all thy kindred 



THOUGHTS. 29 

dependencies look up to tliee, and bless tlie Provi- 
dence that placed thee at their head. Then with 
the conscious prayer canst thou, when day is done, 
join in the gladsome song of sweet delight, no 
farther on to seek for Paradise below. 



THOUGHTS. 

When thoughts come crowding o'er the hill of 

mind, 
Half formed for wisdom and to sin inclined. 
Matured and nurtured, when for use they are 

brought, 
Man is with the glory of his nature fraught. 
Then springs the well of hope within the soul, 
For will to guide and wisdom to control. 
Yea, thoughts come flooding the prolific mind, 
With beauty radiant, half human, half divine, 
Glowing with celestial sublimity and love. 
Then who to this world a devotee would prove — 
Who would not mount upon the whirlwind's rage, 
And ride triumphant o'er the world's cold page. 
Or meet death's cold embrace, the monster form. 
To be conveyed by angels o'er the earth's rude 

storm — 



30 THE V/ILD poet's REST. ^ 

To meet the redemption God in wisdom made, 
While his magnanimity was to man portrayed ? 
Who would not join celestial hymns and song, 
With the minstrel host that must to heaven belong? 
Ah ! who would linger here, amid distrust, disdain, 
Subject to earth's cold misery and pain. 
When each cold heartless joy the world can boast, 
Enveloped in redeeming love would be wholly lost. 
Nothing here is, but still to tempt and try. 
And by meek faith, to prepare for eternity ; 
Then why, ! ambition, inflate this weary breast ? 
On hope's meek pinions let me tranquil rest ; 
With that bright solace e'er before the mind, 
And to joys and sorrows equally resigned. 
My bosom swelling with naught but love of 

heaven ; 
Triumphant o'er grief, from sorrow haply riven. 
This world's a dreary wilderness of woe, 
Yet from native beauty, by man rendered so, 
For sin and transgression is the bane of life — 
Man was the author and must share the strife. 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 31 

DISAPPOINTMENT. 

View man wlien pierced with shafts from 
misfortune hurled, mayhap, from the bow that's 
bent by his own hand and unforseen is tipped in 
lurking mildew's blight from some calamity, per- 
haps that is hurled to cut him down and blast his 
hopes, when, too, his bosom may be reft of kindred 
ties that bound his soul to earth. 

Then cluster near, ye conscious bosoms, with 
sustaining love to buoy his sinking strength, bind 
up his wounded hopes and bid him live to cheer 
the dear ones left. Then, too, how suddenly, oft 
has fate of man reversed and from all the glory of 
his might and beauty he often sinks down to write 
no more. Down ! yea, down to the lowest depths 
of degredation, even beneath the brute — yes, far be- 
neath ! They in their sphere are moving on to an- 
swer to the laws by G-od ordained for them. But 
man ! well might I stand apalled and raise my 
face to heaven ; man, made in image of his God, 
divinely fair ; blessed with an intellectual strength 
and all the means of sustenance and claims to great- 
ness, set before his course with bright redeeming love 
emblazoned always beneath him and the world 
held in such brilliant hues that none can look be- 
yond, save that they will. Beyond the claims of 



32 THE WILD poet's REST. 

love and light, and say to the smothered conscience 
loe still. Then, down, how low ! frail man can 
sink to degredation, till endless torment claim him 
like a robber from oblivion's darkened depths. In 
justice to his Son, God could not bid him rise. — 
That Son who shed his blood on Calvary's cross ; 
who agonizing in conflict between love of life and 
duty, sweat great drops of blood in Gethsemane , 
in love to that Spirit, God and Father of this 
Throne, who made him equal with himself through 
boundless love. It would blot the page which 
God ordained a blank from sin, for records of the 
just, who, through faith in Jesus, with abundant 
grace had here confessed their faults, and received 
the sanctifying spirit through hope. It o'er His 
holy plan would bring dismay ; darkness would 
come, and chaos again resume, for God could 
not look upon but love, and light, and holy 
angel songs, and more than mortals here below 
can of purest joys reveal. Nay he may soar in 
thought's deep holy musings of the mind, as par- 
ticles can soar in softest sunshine, to realms where 
heavenly love is blessed with God's pure presence, 
but naught beyond this dreamy love and pure de- 
votion to his God, while here on earth, can man 
endure. 



CONTEMPLATING A DIVORCE. 33 



COxNTEMPLATiNG A DIVORCE. 

A mother, listless, mourned lier fate, 
Despair was brooding o'er her breast, 

One glimmering star still lingered near, 
To give to life its only zest. 

It was Hope, thus brightly lit afar. 
Still guiding back to peace below ; 

And, in her radiant hue, she gave 
To sorrow's tears their gentle flow. 

" I would," she often sighed and said, 
" That nature's beauty I might scan ; 

That I were free to gaze at will. 
And felt no slavish fear of man." 

So breathed this moaning mother's prayer, 
Reclining o'er the moss-grown siir* 

Recounting changes time had made, 
Till sorrow every nerve would thrill. 

Then touched, as if some angel note 
Had pierced the cavern of her breast ; 

Uprise ! exert, and earn this prize. 

And you once more on earth sliall rest. 



34 THE WILD poet's REST. 

Contending spirits ne'er can rest, 

Nor force the growth of truth and grace, 

How e'er compulsion cheat the will, 
A boding head will widen space. 

" Why linger then," dame nature says, 
" And peril all thy hopes below ; 

And leave a blank to stain with sin, 

Where peaceful streams of joy might flow. 

Reason says, strike ! and rid the breast 
Of every burning painful fear : 

Yea, sever chains that bind to sin, 
And lead thee on in bondage drear. 

Convince the world around you're right, 
If this within your province comes ; 

If not, act nobly, persevere, 
Let not temptation overcome. 

Opposed, we have but to improve 

And clear the fount at conscience halls, 
For virtue must flow pure from them 
Enshrined within these holy walls. 

Impotent would I favors claim, 
Yea. meekly, too, and humbly bow 



CONTEMPLATING A DIVORCE. 

Not at vain glory would I aim — 

Be sealed in heayen. this solemn vow. 

That which is right and just I seek, 
I ask no more, in meekness this, 

Relying on my Maker's love. 
This sacred boon I cannot miss. 



MO IS GOD ? 

An eternal purpose, an embodiment of thought, 
With all the knowledge and power of creation 

fraught, 
His wisdom unbounded, unlimited in space, 
The Creator of all, Omnicient God, Redeemer of 

our race ; 
God's glory and magnitude all space could fill, 
And each pulsation could through nations thrill 
In mind he projected establishing a race, 
For his honor and glory to occupy his space. 
And He saw through wisdom, when He surveyed 

his plan, 
His love must be undying, if He created man ; 
Worlds in their beauty and purity could move, 
Yet, where would be exercise for unbounded love. 



36 THE WILD rOET's REST. 

He o'er benighted cliaos his mandate tlirew, 
And worlds rolled on, resplendent to His view ; 
Light streamed through appertures at his com- 
mand, 
Day and night were formed by His uplifted hand ; 
He gave names to each, the sun, moon and stars. 
And, pointed a field or open space for Mars, 
And all the planets in the heavens ordained, 
Some to roll in wonder, some in their spheres 

remained. 
Worlds rolled o'er worlds, above the blue ctherial 

vault of heaven. 
Lands, beautiful and broad, from seas were riven, 
Vegetation and flowers grew and flourished therej 
Fishes sported in the stream, insects flitted in the 

air, 
Birds through the fragrant air soared unfledged 

alone, 
Beasts for use and burthen through the forest 

roamed, 
Yet wisdom saw from the creative will, 
For Infinite love and glory yet a void to fill. 
A something mightier still, to create a God, 
Then the filling up of an unlimited void ; 
A something impossible with created man, 
Should he create him to carry out his plan. 



WHO IS GOD ? 3r 

For if he make him like other creatures, — blessed 
With larger share of greatness and then to sink to 

rest — 
The image of his glory, as his plan portrayed, 
Must sink to oblivion or be eclipsed in shade. 
Thus God in perfect majesty a will could have, 
Whether man should be perfect or to sin a slave. 
These contemplations employing scarce a moment's 

space, 
Man was formed in image of his own celestial grace, 
With mate or lovely partner to propogate his 

kind — 
In form both beautiful, though of inordinate mind, 
Subject to passion, although within control, 
That they might the glory of his scheme unfold. 
All creatures were made subservient to man — 
For at wisdom's fountain God matured his plan ; 
In a holy garden magnificent below. 
Conferred on them the choice of joy or woe. 
Each thing was lovely, a paradise the whole, 
And o'er this heaven-born bliss God gave them 

control. 
Examples there of right and wrong were placed ; 
All things were wholesome — sin suited to their 

tastes. 



38 THE WILD poet's KEST. 

Then He issued orders, wliich to commands would 

run, 
Designed for posterity, from fatlier down to son : 
" Taste not of sin, as good and evil's there — 
Sin will bring knowledge — knowledge, death, des- 
pair !" 
But man, O, man ! how fitly wert thou made, 
If thy creation redeeming love portrayed ; 
Designed by God his purpose to fulfil. 
And in that designation left at thy will ; 
Strong, mighty, vast embodiment of thought, 
From whence emerged with so much greatness 

frought. 
All things were formed in beauty most sublime ; 
Mankind in God's image presented quite divine ; 
Yet, notwithstanding, they did there transgress, 
And by meek sorrow did their faults confess. 
Then as God viewed with wondrous powers their 

minds, 
And how much to sin each had been inclined, 
He hurled His stern command in wonder at their 

feet 
A grave assurance bidding them retreat. 
Then, in perfect majesty, God compassion feels, 
And since in much mercy with this ^species deals ; 



WHO IS GOD 1 39 

Y earns witli compassion over dying man, 

Redeems to glor}^, and finishes His plan ; 

Brings forth His Son, in His perfections rare, 

And to redeeming glory makes him lawful heir ; 

And by His mercies pleading, his compassion 
moves, 

And implants within him the greatness of His 
love. 

TiirougV nature's pleadings, his whole mind lie 
wrings 

With the holy magnitude redeeming love will 
bring ; 

Then, with true meekness, grand and awfully sub- 
lime, 

Jesus becomes a sacrifice, to redeem mankind. 

God then to man a limit bounds, 

Tliat none o'erstep the precints of these grounds ; 

That whosoever in faith believing come, 

Shall, by repentance meek, find pardon through 
His Son; 

Unites him in the Godhead, Father, Holy Ghost 
and Son. 

A Deity — the Holy Triune God in One. 

Thus through the Father, Holy Ghost and Son, 

This glorious redemption for man is won. 

c2 



40 TTIE WILD POEJ'S REST. 



A CKEEEFUL DISPOSITION. ' 

Cheerful good nature and innocent mlrthful- 
ness are the true poetry of religion, as Iier true, 
solemn, lieart-felt, deep-toned meditations and sin- 
cere devotions are the illustrations of all the 
essentials to the developments of a happy and true 
reliance, through faith, u^pon redeeming love. The 
mercy of God calls forth the most enthusiastic 
feelings of gratitude and holy veneration that can 
possibly be awakened in tlie heart of man; and, 
when unbiased by bigoted or formal prejudice, 
lays before us one of the most perfect examples of 
self-sacrifice and holy love that lies in the nature 
of man to conceive, human or divine. 

When we contemplate that God so loved the 
world that He gave his Son a ransom for sinners, 
that whoever believed on Him should have eternal 
life, and that it was through love, how can we 
forbear to kindle the vital spark, and at least let 
it cheer and enliven those who must of necessity 
be cheered by the enlivening halo about us, or sit 
under the clouds of our despondency. I will en- 
deavor not to think it haughty pride or bigoted 



A CIIF.ERFUL DISPOSITION. 4 I 

unbelief. Who can but feel constrained to exam- 
ine the character of Deity, and who that examines 
minutely that character, can but be drawn on im- 
perceptibly to the most grateful and humiliating 
enthusiasm of aifection that can be described 1 — 
And it is impossible to imagine anything in con- 
nection with the contemplation of Jehovah without 
sensations of awe at once pure and humiliating, 
and the most substantial conviction of the incapa- 
bility of our own natures to partake of this unmer- 
ited goodness, except in and through his boundless 
love for man and his self-sacrificing plan of re- 
demption and mercer. Yet, where a continual 
state of gloom pervades the mind, a person is apt 
to sink into despondency, and realize very many 
almost overwhelming doubts with lack of faith and 
want of vital energy. Whereas the mind falls 
back from innocent mirthfulness and cheerful 
railery refreshed, exhilerated, and all its vitality 
renewed ; faith lays hold afresh on the hope set 
before it, and through atoning grace and pleadings 
for mercy the whole inner man becomes alive to 
love and duty. We behold the unlimited mercy 
and goodness of God, and, as the consoled infant 
lies upon the bosom of its natural parent, so does 

c3 



42 THE WILD poet's REST. 

the regenerated soul repose in the sunshine of the 
righteousness of the Son of God. The Psalmist 
says our days are few and full of trouble — very 
many are ready to subscribe to this — and again 
we read that it is not in the lieart of man always 
to mourn. We should not only manifest a cheer- 
ful good nature, by an interchange of those little 
civilities in which we are apt to claim a pride of 
personal accomplishments, but, as far as Christian 
love would approve, help to cheer each other on, 
and help to lighten the burthens of society ; in- 
stead of manifesting malevolence, and a disposition 
to supercede the Christian developments of the 
mind with a suspecting, envious, uncourteous dis- 
crimination of character — and perhaps not only 
character, but the mere foibles of nature, which 
might pass unnoticed by the less suspecting. — 
Who can conscientiously lie down at night and 
ask God's gracious mercy on all lier short-comings 
through the day — that day which is no more to 
return to us — and say she has neglected no oppor- 
tunity of doing good that she was at liberty to 
improve ; no sorrow to assuage, no desponding 
sinner's heart to cheer and enlighten, no weak 
sister's heart into which she may infuse consola- 



A CHEEK ruL DisrosiTioN. 43 

tion, or dospondiDg brother whose burthen she 
might lighten by associating herself with his sor- 
rows and inviting him to partake of her sympathies, 
which may remove or help to bear a mountain of 
sorrow, and thus entertain angels unaware? Re- 
member how liable we are to be deceived, and be 
aware that Christ says to you, '' inasmuch as ye 
have not done it unto one of these, ye have not 
done it unto me." If you have nothing else in 
the midst of your abundance, mayhap from em- 
barrassment, how sweet is counsel and gladly ac- 
ceptable; and how fourfold will the exhaustion 
from that Benevolent Source be supplied from 
that everlasting Fountain from whence all our 
help must come. A kind w^ord many times light- 
ens an overw'helming load of sorrow, and the re. 
cipient passes on, perhaps to eternity, with the im- 
pression on his heart, to be transferred to the cat- 
alogue of promoting events that are to fill the 
books of immortality. 

Suppose the President or Governor should 
chance to meet you in society — you knew him, yet 
had no particular acquaintance with him ; yet he 
politely recognized you, and entered upon some 
familiar civilities — would not vou feel it? would 



44 THE WILD POET'S REST. 

it not be engraven upon jour memory? Yet it is 
from tlie truly noble we expect civilities and res- 
pect, especially if our position is an humble one ; 
yea, from the goodly, wise and great, and the 
real' Christian, may the unfortunate expect the 
sunshine of charity, sympathy and love. 



REFLECTIONS. 

Lashed to corruption's utmost blight, 
And pinioned every limb and nerve, 

Yet controlled within by truth and love. 
From which my heart could ne'er swerve. 

Borne on o'er Time's sad, dreary waste,' 

Upheld by God's sustaining grace, 
My bursting breast was filled with woe — 

Y"et in my heart Hope found a space- 
Angels would gather round my dreams, 

With melodies attune my tongue ; 
Celestial strains would guide my voice, 

And anthems with serapli choirs I sung 



11 o r K. 



Then would I w.ike to misery's tears, 
And weep till every fount was dry ; 

Too, with a firm unearthly joy, 
I would a heartless world defy. 



HOPE. 

There is a well within my soul. 

Too deep for sorrow's fountain yet. 
Where love can hold communion still, 
And sin can pay her saddest debt. 

A fountain by my Saviour's love 

Sank deep within a holy shrine, 
Where, laving still for faults and wrongs, 
My gladdened spirit strives to shine. 

! could I tell my saddest woes 
In voice and accents of that love, 

Vyhen Jesus bade my soul be si>iH, 
And all within by mercy moved' 



46 THE WILD poet's REST. 

Once may the selfish murderer die, 
And this may end all feud and strife ; 

He may repent, believe and love. 
Yet will his wretched victim live. 

The slanderer, too, may just atone 
For all his lingering, living deaths — 

Worse, far, than murder done outright, 
For poison lives beyond his breath. 

But can the living wanderer thrive 

Who o'er Time's waves must bear this blight ? 
Yes, Jesus will his footsteps guide, 

And conscience pure reflect its light. 



FATE. 

A firm believer in the rule of fate, 
My first example shall be quoted from the great, 
The proud Napoleon, Emperor of state, 
Whose rank and dignity fell a prey to hate, 
Who, swelled with an avaricious love of power, 
Grew like some Asiatic plant, and perished like 
its flower. 



But mark to what end hi.s selllsli avarice tends, 
For to injured innocence the guilty must make 

amends. 
See Josephine, raised to immortal fame. 
For countless millions her memory retain ; 
A nation's honors her distant heir has blest. 
While all there is of him must with his ashes rest. 
Could Josephine go doAvn with broken heart 
And to her posterity no rank impart ? 
No. View Hortense's son — the hapless child 
To whose barefoot dancing happy seamen smiled — 
Fitted at last with her mother's altered shoes, 
That she this ocean party might still amuse. 
Is there no overruling fate in this 1 
Or can mortal now the interpretation miss ? 
*See her proud son, the President of France — 
Was it for this she joined the ship-deck dance ? 
Nay, watch that mute mother, in silent devoted 

prayer. 
With true mother's yearnings for that distant heir. 
Was there no fate to intervene in this ? 
Who studies fate and yet that fate can miss 7 
See her proud ofispriug, reared and crowned for 

state, 
While his has proved an heir to a preposterous fate; 



48 Tin: WILD poet's rest. 

Not that by prediction I claim hers to be great, 
Or that his should have been heir to this prepos- 
terous fate ; 
But to speak this language to a numberless world, 
That through justice injustice must be hurled. 
See Kings and Emperors and Princes fall — 
Founded in envy or hatred, if at all — 
And see rank and honors from goodness arise ; 
Then doff your enmity, and true goodness prize. 
Judge not, but watch to see the weight of woe 
Or weight of worth (lod to the good bestow. 
Do we not often, in creatures less than Kings, 
Se justice balanced, from man down to insect 

wings ? 
Enough that God the acts of all surveys, 
And good or bad for all some truth portrays ; 
Shall man with ignominy stamp the face of man, 
Unless by some proof he shall sustain his plan 1 
Should religious motives which he deigns to bear 
Teach him suspicions should in his judgments 

sharc\! % 
Nay, guilt diould first be by impartial witness 

proved, 
Then in the judgment should be mingled love ; 
Lest judges arc judged by that avenging rod 



FATE. 49 

That owns for its judgment an Omniscient God. 
Man in his folly is oft cut down at noon, 
For his day of prosperity often arrives too soon ; 
Or in prosperity is stripped of his display, 
For his noontide splendor is too bright a ray. 
So it is too often with rancorous, envious pride, 
Which sails too fast to keep within the tide ; 
Thus Nature points it in the book of fate, 
And death winds up the great or small estate. 
Then why such envyings, bickerings, strife, 
When the present hour is all we claim of life ? 
Why not in charity, in harmony in love, 
Live here expecting we may meet above ? 
'Tis God to judge the innate acts of mind, 
And by redeeming love the best must be refined. 
Christ showed the possibility was small 
To save the great, while he the humble calls. 
The great and noble have their place in wealth ; 
The poor may ope them if 'tis not by stealth. 
They in societies may form for love, 
Temperance and Odd Fellows, or whatever they 

approve ; 
May hold their pastimes, weddings, wakes and 

fairs, 
Yet to immortal greatness may be rightful heirs. 



50 THE WILD POET'S REST. 

Although the rich in prouder circles inrve, 
They are seldom envied and can scarcely love. 
And envious, lurking passion to be great 
Are found in atoms as they're found in State ; 
In the stone that lies encumbered with the moss, 
And mineral world, accumulating dross, 
And vegetation reaching for the skies, 
While birds and insects from flight to flight arise. 
Winds, frosts and snow to upper regions hie, 
And fishes, sporting, the highest water try, 
And sometimes sporting are by the angler caught ; 
Birds by the sportsman from their heights are 

brought. 
Vegetation by nature or by man brought low. 
Teaches us that all to the Creator bow ; 
While winds pressed on by frost condensed and air, 
In the rude whirlwinds or the tempest share. 
All things are limited to God's infinite power — • 
Man in His image, imperial dower ; 
For man, save in nature, to be God-like, 
A solemn impress on his heart must strike ; 
And, like the crude metals we so dearly prize, 
In the pure refining all the beauty lies. 



A RETROSPECT. 

A RETROSPECT. 

'Taint worth my while to fever now, 

Or tune the Poet's lyre ; 
Fame's golden sandals I can wear, 

Wrought by artistic sire. 

Sweet melodies are now attuned 
Each prosperous heart to woo, 

And in the eager strife for song 
To soften sorrow too. 

Yet will I yield my dearest strife 

To vanity and pride, 
When hopes of heaven and joys of earth 

Are ranged within this tide. 

Nay, I can never yield the palm 

To indolence and ease ; 
'T would never soothe my weary woes, 

Or lurking strife appease. 

That vital spark, whose embers warm 

Will never cease to strive, 
While memory with this heart of mine 

In peaceful concert live. 



Til]': WILD POET .< RKST. 



HOPE AND TMIST IN GOD. 

How blessed is man when simultaneously 
tlirougli all the secret breathings of his soul he 
relies on God, and contemplates in all the fullness 
of his faith his trust in his Redeemer, lives upon 
his lov^, and sees througli all his Maker's works a 
beauty yet sublime. He moves erect, regardless 
of all the pride and pomp of earth. What virtu- 
ous majesty in Ins bosom burns. Then fearless, 
too, he onward moves, and loves his neighbor as 
himself Then happily he his vocation fills— 
whether to feed his flocks or fertile lands to till 
or other occupation as usefulness direct — and ii 
all his acts are holiness and love, tempered wit' 
that meek, pungent grief for faults whicJi God aj 
proves, and is working its way in purifyin 
strength to purge from sin, and through redeen 
ing grace to secure a place at God's right ham 
where angel songs await his coming feet to giA 
him welcome and fill his soul with overwhelmin 
love. 

What rapturous joy ! In heaven, at re; 
from all the doubts of sin and sorrow here belov 
to occupy a place among the blessed inheritors ( 



HOl'K AND TRUST IN COD. 53 

God's own patrimony. Then wliere's tlie goading 
stripes of earth, mixed up with all its vain deceit 
its pain and sickening sorrow, too, and love of life 
and dread of death, to chill the poor desponding 
sinner's heart? 'Tis here below, lashed to the 
worldling's best estate. Woe then to wealth and 
all the gaudy trappings here on earth, where man 
a prisoner dwells in slavish fear of all save God 
alone, and love for none but self — aping some self- 
ish whim or hugging some fancied scheme, which, 
as the loadstone, draws him on to interminable 
woe ! None envy this strange fate. ^Vho could 
that e'er on bended knees, beneath hope's bright- 
ening rays, had felt in moving love and gentlest 
whispers God's holiest gifts of love and grace se- 
cure his hopes within ? 

Blessed moment ! oft returned to feed the hun- 
gry cravings of the soul, for which no earthly food 
is meet. But ah ! — from thence to raise to feel 
the bitter pangs of life, sorrow, distrust, envy and 
hate, and cold and hunger too ; and more, the 
piercing moans of children asking bread, and none 
to give, with hardly grace, at times, sufficient to 
ask for strength to bear this weight of woe. So 
weak sometimes is woman, that doubts arise and 
weakness fill the soul ; but then a sunny morn 



54 THE WIT.D poet's REST. 

will come and roll repentance on like floods of 
light, and that which shrouds the soul in gloom 
to-da}*^, shall be its joy to-morrow. For hope can 
bid the murmuring heart be still, and solace in 
anticipation's blessed security her hopes for 
heaven. The truant mind, like a school-boy, 
wanders back to daj^s gone by to dwell at times with 
sorrows past, though torn from memory's grave. 
"Who would not wander from luxury to scenes of 
poverty, to where unshaken principles of faith in 
sweet redeeming love have bound each living tie 
to trust in God ? yea, where gaunt hunger gathered 
near, and glittering frost was waving in the sun- 
light and where night drew on and evening hung her 
spangled banner o'er the earth, and still no succor 
came ? then o'er the dying embers of a flickering 
flame a mother nerves her feeble frame to ply her 
task till all is finished — another scant supply is 
earned ; and then, with humble prayer, she 
nestles close beside her little ones to rest till 
morn. Then with what tranquil hope she burns 
the straw that softened her rude couch, to warm 
her little ones and thaw the crusts that should 
sustain them yet another day. Bright, flicker- 
ing flame ! no brighter than the hope that 
cheers frail woman on to love and duty. Blessed* 



lioly Sabbath day — ^so often mourucd and passed. 
Solemn indeed tlie fast wlicu we're compelled to 
wait for food ; yet joyous to go back where sor- 
row's wasting seeds were sprouting into life for an 
abundant harvest. And ! for the tranquil joy 
and blessed acceptance, tempered with Grod's rich 
grace for all his mercies here below. Who would 
not watch again the coming morn to witness with 
what silent joy the festive board is spread ? one 
quart of meal and luscious extract of the cane is 
as a stalled ox in all the pomp and pride of epicu- 
rean feast. Then with what love-thirsty eyes that 
mother feeds her sight on scenes like this ; then 
bears to God her thanks in spirit meek that none 
but the truly blessed can feel. 



DESPONDENCY. 

When o'er our hearts the midnight hangs 
That forms 'neath fell despair, 

And all the woes that rend the soul 
Dissolve in liquid air ; 

Then glory, like a swelling tide, 
Breaks in through sorrows course, 

And all the innate acts of love 
Lie bosomed in remorse. 

D 



56 THE "WILD poet's RES'I. 

We tread again tliose paths of woe 
Wliere fell despair was wooed. 

And by the lucid light of love 
Stroll o'er the waste we strewed. 

But in the rich perspective of 
The joys the blessed must feel, 

We shrink away to hide the faults 
Our want of strength revealed. 



LIVE AND LET LIVE. 

Who feels the just responsibility of this in- 
junction ? Who feels how often it means we should 
shrink away within ourselves to give place tc others 
or to yield a favorable position to a friend or even 
an enemy ? Who does not abide the law rather 
than his own conscience? We feel the warm 
blood flow; propelled by our exulting natures, 
towards self, when we have practiced some little 
self-denial, or, perhaps through love of applause, 
yielded some favorite position to a superior or 
some particular friend. But who has joyed in his 
heart that he has had the mighty conflict in his 
own bosom, and finally triuni plied, of seeking an 



LIVE AND LET LIVE. 57 

enemy a,nd bestowing upon him an emolument 
that he would be able to appreciate, or who 
has devoted his time and talents solely for the 
purpose of doing good, or set apart a share of his 
abundance for the benefit of the needy and unfor- 
tunate !■ Or who that has given employ to the 
honest laborer that has not required the last effort, 
whether or not he was able to give the required 
satisfaction, (without jeoparding health, or may- 
hap absenting himself from those who were lan- 
guishing at home anxiously vdshing his return) or 
Vfithheld from their sufferings all that he was not 
in the strict sense of the engagement bound to re- 
pay ? We know that there are exceptions to this 
general rule, yet how many there are who take 
advantage of honest poverty to fatten on their very 
groans, and how many there are who allow them- 
selves to frown at a poor laborer for hastening to 
leave his work when the happy hour has arrived 
that he is accustomed to wend his way to the little 
family circle that constitutes the all of life with 
liim. 

Christ has been annointed with the precious 
ointment and passed away from earth leaving the 
poor whom he has declared should always remain, 

d2 



58 THE WILD rOET'6 REST. 

and in remembrance of Ilis wise consideration 
ought we not often to gladden their hearts, a ful- 
fillment of the obsequies of redeeming love? — 
Must we not feel deeply the impressions of these 
holy injunctions? Can we pass over them un- 
thought of? And how inconsiderately do people 
complain of the worthy mechanic because he does 
not meet his engagements as does the millionaire 
the affairs of his purse, which quite too often an- 
other's grasping avarice has placed at his control. 
And some have even tried to impeach them for 
failing to fulfill tlieir engagements made to secure 
that sustenance which nature so rigidly requires ; 
but let them bring home to the door of their own 
consciences their pressing necessities and the dan- 
ger of the opportunity's passing by to secure the 
fleeting prize which must be another's if it should 
escape, coupled up with the various wants and ills 
of mechanical life — surrounded, too, with liabili- 
ties which must jeopard a business reputation if 
they are not promptly met, and they will not chafe 
and fame and disparage the conciencc-bruised, 
goaded mechanic, who, amid his daily toil and 
sleepless nights, is buoyed up by the very energy 
he seems to be wasting. And with a common un- 



LIVE AND LKT LTVl-J. 59 

derstanding, unless arrested by despair or ill health, 
no statemanship will compare with the brilliancy 
of his career. He rears and sustains a family for 
usefulness and honor, accumulates a little fortune 
quite sufficient for their necessities, and his sons 
and daughters walk forth into fashionable life with 
more good sense, a better reputation, and more 
likely to fill exalted stations than the haughty, 
overbearing sons and daughters of the millioniare, 
who have been fostered in the lap of careless indo- 
lence and ease, however much they may recoil 
from the term mechanic. They understand the 
miseries and sorrows of life as well as its luxuries, 
and are prepared to go forth to mingle their sypa- 
thies with the unfortunate, and instead of mani 
festing the spirit of irony and control, they will 
endeavor to mitigate the accumulated ills of life 
and the suffering of the unfortunate. This is the 
balm of liberty, and they the true pioneers and 
champions of democracy to whatever party they 
may chance to belong ; and from such does come 
the budding promise of reform. The very word 
mechanic should have a broad significance. It is 
to do, to act, and refrain from doing, to make the 

beginning and end of days meet as well as things ; 

d3 



f)0 THE WILD poet's rest. 

and it is even to begin and end an honest life, for 
honor, honesty and virtue are refined hj the mach- 
inations of the mind. The pious minister is me- 
chanical if his labors are productive ; else let the 
simplicity of truth be its own teacher. The states- 
man is mechanical, although with an aristocratic 
significance he would term it political : yet in the 
machinations of his gigantic mind there is all the 
skill in forming a constitution of laws that hur- 
ries the overtasked brain of the laboring mechanic, 
and very many are still to learn to which of these 
should belong the greatest abundance of happi- 
ness even in this life. "VVe can realize how readily 
the grasping aspirant will catch at emolument, 
but most willingly would I leave it to the prosper- 
ous to decide which should claim the pure, unal- 
lo^^ed happiness. The proud advocate of our 
rights and privileges most mechanically plies his 
energies and abilities to the nice discriminations 
and various intricacies of his profession. The 
salesman, too, is mechanical, and must enter me- 
chanically into the spirit of his calling to realize 
prosperity. Yet there must be seed time and 
harvest for the mechanic as well as the humble 
tiller of the soil ; his plans must be mechanically 



LIVE AND LET LIVE. 61 

inaturctl, and all should forbear as much as possi- 
ble to infringe upon his arrangements. I would 
by no means foster neglect and indolence, nor weak- 
en the obligation all owe to each other ; but let 
all abide the law of their consciences, for by the 
law comes transgression ; and we read that he that 
provides not for his household denies the faith and 
is worse than an infidel. The mechanic casts his 
bread upon the waters ; and while he waits in all 
the uncertainty of hope, he must patiently submit 
to all the buffettings of time, and amid the world's 
rude storm be often tempest-tossed. They are the 
budding promise of enterprise and improvement, 
and on the wings of improvement comes a tonic for 
reform and virtue for this our hale American peo- 
ple, healthy in arts, in science, in virtue, and in re- 
ligious sympathy and love. Ready, too, to meet 
the flooding tide of wild, emigrating foreigners, 
who come nude as it were to our shores, touching 
the great mass of mind, from countries that make 
a boast of their improvements and advancements 
in civilized life, whose very watch-word should be 
oppression and tyranny above the heads of their^un- 
enlightened millions. Let them come, and may God 
give them grace, and our institutions wisdom, and 
may firmness of purpose be their guide to virtue. 



02 THE WILD poet's REST. 



TO MRS. DE KUQYFT. 

Lady dear, oft I turn my mind 
To thouglits of thee, that thou art blind ; 
Yet as I stray me o'er thy page. 
Thy sorrows my whole soul engage — 
Then kindred waters move. 

I feel the love within thy soul 
Which does thy spirit meek control, 
And guide thee to an angels hand, 
To lead thee on o'er earth's cold strand, 
And fill thy breast with love. 

I need not ask of kindred worth 
A place beside a genial hearth, 
Or home in every Christian's heart. 
For Christ will circumscribe the chart 
To limit thee thy bounds. 

They will extend to every heart 
Where Jesus ever claimed a part 
For his redemption in the skies, 
From whence his holy incense rise 
To waft our thanks to God. 



HUMAN NATURE. 63 

There is no blindness in the soul — 
Jesus' pure love will light the whole, 
And, as the beacon for mariners stands, 
To guide you to the j^romised land 
Where milk and honey flow. 

Go on, and in thy love-bound course 
May God, the ever living Source, 
Dictate thy heart and guide thy feet, 
Till angel missions are complete 

To guide thy soul to Heaven. 



IIUMxlN NATURE. 

Tell me who will bear our sorrows, 
Who, our losses will sustain. 

Who will bear for us our burthen, 
Who will not of us complain ? 

Jesus meekly will our sorrows 
Promptly by his tone sustain. 

And He will buoy the humble spirit 
When all earthly friends refrain. 



G4 THE WILD POET S REST. 

Who will feed us wlieu we hunger, 
Who will lave the burning brow. 

Who will plead with God for mercy 
To restore a forfeit vow ? 

O, it is the faithful Christian 
Will sustain an aching heart. 

And, amid the world's affliction. 
They will always have a part. 

When the fevered pulse is beating 
Beneath a burning, anxious brow, 

'Tis the gentle hand of friendship 
That can cheer thee then or now. 

And none but parent, wife or sister, 
Or some humble Christian friend, 

That would plead with God for mercy, 
Can the sin-sick soul defend. 

Where's the friends that fortune gave you 
When she wore a smiling brow ? 

They are gloomy in the distance — 
Misfortune drives them from you now- 

Where's the hand that is not reaching 
To a more prolific place ? 



THK DREAM. 65 

Where's the heart that's not aspiring 
For a more exalted space ? 

the hand that is not reaching 
Is chained to an honest heart, 
Pointing forward to God's mercy, 
And every day secures his part. 

And the heart that's not aspiring 

Must the love of Nature feel ; 
And, amid the world's rude tempest, 

It a tranquil mind reveals. 



THE DREAM. 

As I in dreamy slumbers lay, 
I saw a sunbeam o'er me stray, 
And all within was light and love. 
Which by the spirit I would prove, 
To test the joys I felt. 

For angels there in spirit throngs. 
With harps of burnished gold — and songs 
And heavenly anthems, so sublime, 
Were sung beneath the holy shrine, 
That angels, veiled, adored. 



66 THE WILD poet's REST, 

Then, as I rested in delight, 
A gleam broke o'er the spirit's might, 
And I in rapture caught the love 
Which in my soul a hope could prove, 
Bright, radiant as the sun. 

This light was as the sunbeam lies. 
Just tipped with beauteous rainbow dies, 
And all was as if liquid light 
Had turned the gold to brilliant white 
And diamonds lustering hue. 

Then, as I lay transfixed in love, 
A seraph pointed me above. 
Where Jesus all this love portrayed. 
And then, to speak as I assayed, 

I broke this heavenly charm. 



or THE MIND. 

OF THE MIND. 

I will strive to treat you of the mind 
Witliin, wliicli is so much inclined 

To arbitrary sway ; 
A shapeless, helpless, termless nerve, 
Which terminates as others swerve, 

And vibrates o'er the whole. 

This soft, this fleshy, pulpy part, 
Thougli terminating at the heart, 

idust be the seat of life ; 
And as it changes from this mass, 
Back it will in silvery torrents pass, 

Just like a lirjuid light. 

It forms a stream like flooding rill. 
Unseen it can the system fill, 

With life inspires the whole ; 
It gives sensation to each part. 
It is connected with the heart — 

From thence is sudden pain. 

The heart conveys it to the blood. 
And from this grand, prolific flood 
It is sustained and fed ; 



or 



08 THE WITJ) poet's rest. 

And when, from sudden grief or pain, 
The heart will not this mass sustain, 
The breast is rent with pain. 

From thence it mounts up to the head. 
And with the brain would seem to wed, 

Or hold it in control ; 
It is the love, the light, the whole. 
And in the center is the soul, 

The pure, enlivening stream. 

It works as would a smothered fire, 
And warms to life each soft desire, 

And animates with hope ; 
And as it breaks upon the sight. 
It floods the soul with liquid light. 

And mirrored beauty brings. 

It joins the nerves that pierce the heart, 
And shields each other inner part. 

And stimulates the brain ; 
And when the stomach sickens deep, 
It does retire to prostrate keep, 

Or loses its control. 



OF THE MIND. G9 

Tiie same wlion faiutncss o'er you steal — 
It dies within, or does conceal, 

Both tranquil and resigned ; 
And when returning sense inflates, 
It does this mystic mind instate, 

More brilliant than before. 

It makes us to our fate resigned. 
Then restive, cannot be coniined 

Nor reconciled to fate ; 
But sure it is the all of life, 
Begins and ends all feud and strife, 

And sometimes is dethroned. 



The centre part, on which we turn. 
The chime that makes our bosoms burn 

With pure, celestial fire ; 
And as it o'er the vitals rolls. 
It rolls o'er all, propels the whole. 

And bids our bodies move. 



Back as it tapers to the mind, 
To all that's thought, it is inclined 
To elevate the soul. 



THE ^^'ILD poet's REST. 

Soul is the center of tlie mind. 
Holy and pure, by Grod designed 

To bear it liome to heaven. 

When we in dreamy slumbers lie, 
This sleepless spirit cannot die, 

But shows its pure estate ; 
And when our bodies in the dust 
Must wear away, corrupt and rust, 

'Twill wing its way to God. 

It has its origin in mind, 

Was by the great '• I am" designed, 

His glory to enhance ; 
It was the worli not made with hands, 
But beckoned forth at Crod's commands, 

And must to him return. 

It is the pulse that moves the mind, 
Yet never was by G-od designed, 

Nor cannot fade away. 
See all the moving, rising storms. 
That rend the breast like piercing thorns 

'Tis aiia'uish of the mind, 



OF THE MINR 71 

Fraught with the passions armdl witli woe, 
With misery deep aucl sorrow too, 

And ending in despair ; 
Then back to struggle o'er the whole, 
Till, in the center of the soul, 

It meets the fount of love ; 

Then feci the joys that rise from thence, 
To rouse the innate life of sense. 

And dies the soul to charm ; 
Till, as the dreamy whisper strays, 
It o'er our senses softly plays, 

To seal the soul for heaven. 



Not as the ruder blows would come, 
To turn our exiled bodies home 

To mingle with the dust ; 
But as the gentle, soothing hand, 
Or afj the mystic, magic wand. 

Would touch present to prove 

Or, as the gentle, parting glance. 
That o'er the dying features dance, 

Filled with a heavenly love. 



72 Till: WILD roEi'8 rest. 

Love is the joy that swells the soul 
For God or man beyond control — 
A pure, cxtatic bliss ; 

Love is the light of spirit fire 
That lights to rays each soft desire, 

And illuminates the soul ; 
It is the holy light of heaven, 
And from the love of God 'tis riven, 

Christ's diadem to form. 

Angels must bow before its ray — 
Eclipsed would be the open day 

Beneath this halo sheen. 
Let man be calm — contemplate all — 
The mind, the light, the love, the soul, 

Which doth his bosom warm. 



MY FLOWERS. 
Hail roseate flower ! Come, let me gaze upon 
Thy beauty yet. Nay, lend thy gentle breath 
To mine, and, as thy beauty dies. 
Let me inhale fresh odors from the expiring 
Ag(my of life with thee. 



MY FLOWERS. 



73 



Immortal thought ! a life that sweetens 

With the expiring agony of nature ! 

Fit emblem of that living love that brightens 

As the lengthened shadows of objects gather near 

To bless its setting sun. 

mingle with the love that in my bosom lies 
Clogged with such cumbrous load of life, 
And death, and sense, and flesh and blood, 
And all the lesser ills that there 
Pertain to life. 

And these, mixed up with those chimerical germs 
Which sprout from thence, and with the light 
Of love and beauty twined. And, richer still, 
Those mellow rainbow tints, that seem to smile 
In open face of day, and tell that angel shrine 
Was shielded there. 



74 THE WILD poet's REST, 



HOPE. 

There is a well within my soul, 

A source of pure delight, 
Whose waters all the woes of earth 

Can never serve to blight. 

For in this love a heavenly shield 

And garniture portrayed 
Must o'er the secret acts of mind 

Be in ready voice essayed. 

God does not ask for sable robes — 

It is our love he seeks ; 
Deep in the inner soul of man 

This precious gem he keeps. 

He does not ask that in the face 

We mock before his throne ; 
But from the secret depths of soul 

Our sacrifice be borne. 

Faith on the shoulder ne'er can ride, 

But in the secret heart ; 
And through the cherished springs of love 

She must her joys impart. 



A DIALOGUE. 75 



A DIALOGUE. 

Fidelle. Good morning, George. 

George. Good morning. \Exit.\ 

F. "Well ! Ah, lie could not once liave passed 
me thus. But see the prosperous look he bears 
along. And I, how frail and wan — and sad, may- 
hap, for disappointment wrings my brow to-day, 
and sorrow has crept into my heart, and there 
'twould seem must still abide. And slander, too, 
with her taper finger pointing scorn, has singled 
me. But he — can he join in this silent scheme 
my heart to grieve 1 

Enter Charles. 

C. Good morning, Fidelle. You muse alone 
— how's that ? do you love solitude 1 

F. Yes, solitude's my guardian now, and thrice 
repays me for the wrongs I've suffered. 

C. Yet you are fair as when the sunny sky of 
youth warmed o'er our joyful heads, and teach me 
to love you still, dear Fidelle ! Pray, where's 
your husband ? 

F. For shame, Charles ! do not treat me thus. 
Do not thus mix up love with sorrow, reproach and 
and hate ; for I must add degrees of hate, if thus 
you sum up matters fraught with insult. 

e2 



76 THE WILD POEl-'S REST. 

C. 0, Fidelle, I would not insult you ; but I 
have heard of late — 

F. Hush ! name not what you have heard, 
but call to mind the genial spirit of my youth — 
the youth you so profane — and find what good and 
evil flowed from thence ; and between my love of 
all that's good and just and all you felt was crime, 
make true your mark — then judge from that. 

C. Now tell me, honest, have you no secret 
love ? Has nothing damped your soul but the rash 
conduct of a villain ? 

F. Nay, you must be serious, Charles — I have 
no words to waste in jest. I have been too often 
wronged — -I cannot say accused. God ! who 
thought a day would come when I should be as- 
sailed with slander's tongue ! 

C. Fie on these things ! the world must have 
its way, and I must profit by it. I am guilty — I 
— ^yes, and do not screen it. I care nothing, and 
fortune smiles on me ; the dimes are thick as 
snow-flakes in my path, and I, with true confiding 
•wife, can love another. 

F. Oh Charles ! 'tis open blasphemy to hear 
thee thus confess thy faults. that it were true 
in spirit meek, and thou wert blessed with hope's 
illuminating love. But there comes George. 



A DIALOGUE. 77 

C. Just witness now his loft}* step and haughty 
brow — a sickly fund for charity, so long monopo- 
lized. But — 

Enter GrEORGE. 

F. Good morning, G-eorge. I spoke you once 
this morning, and so painfully lingered on the 
sound of that known voice I hardty could receive 
it a response. 

G. Yes, those are wearisome days ; and then 
I have so many thus to claim respect, from some 
pretense or other, it makes it tiresome. 

F. And yet, 'twere never so to me. 

G. Ah, I feel it, and you have erred therein. 
The world must never give too much to friend- 
ship's drafts, or poverty ensues, and then reproach 
and scorn ; and believe me, Fidelle, I could but 
poorly bear this blight. 

F. And yet, to do some little good while chance 
is left? 

G. I do believe in faith, not works. I study 
to be faithful to m}^ G od, and it's more than I can 
do to deal with all the little affairs of men and 
creatures. But I must go — good morning. 

F. Nay, George, when I shall meet you with 
extended hand, and you with all the tender sym- 
pathy of youth shall grasp my own, then shall I 

e3 



78 THE WILD poet's REST, 

joy to greet you, for I sliall know that God has 
been dealing with your heart. Good morning. 

C. There, Fidelle, what say you now of friend- 
ship ? There's thy much loved Father's proto- 
type of wisdom— he cannot brook contempt and 
scorn. And one would think he'd left his wisdom, 
too, with other guests save us ; and I have often 
seen him play the hypocrite, and prate of love, 
morality and religion. 

F. Ah, Charles, it is not late I found it thus. 
My much loved father would have chained me to 
this blight — this offspring of hjnDocrisy. 

C. Ah ! and he is rich. 

F. I realize it so, yet would not sacrifice my 
conscience for all the ill got wealth that he'd ever 
possess. I felt my father's prejudice oft warm to- 
wards him ; and yet, if I must be a slave, better I 
should choose my master. 

C. I too, have dreads like that, and know full 
well 'tis hard to be compelled, and harder still to 
be guided, by a master repugnant to our choice. 
But is not this a cold, heartless world ? 

F. There are cold, heartless people in it, and a 
mixed multitude — cold hearted aspirants, grasping 
avarice, self-conceit, and professing Christians too 
— these are the deadly list ; then haughty pride 



A DIALOGUE. 79 

and vanity, and criminals, and hosts of others, of 
whom the world are well aware, and therefore not 
so dangerous. Then the unfortunate and honest 
poor come in, who never need look up in the pres- 
ence of these worthies. 

C. A pretty catalogue, indeed ! Come, finish 
your summing up, and let us have the whole — 
myself among the rest, 

F. The Christian, Charles, of whom I would 
not speak but with a venerating awe, so full of life, 
of love, of hope — here is the link between God and 
a sinful world, and who in heart makes interces- 
sion for us. Yes, whatever be our crimes, the 
Christian bears the guilty weight of woe to God 
and in an holy pleading seeks for our sin-sick soul's 
relief 

C. Truly, Fidelle, thou persuadest me to be a 
Christian. 

F. Would to heaven, Charles, I could point 
you to your faults, and teach you how to look at 
them in their true magnitude ; and feel you felt 
them, too, and feel you did feel that far off evil day 
that too, mayhap, may be near at hand. 

C. ! I feel it ; and oft a shudder passes 
o'er my frame in spite of my gayest humors. I 



80 THE WILD poet's REST. 

know a trying day will come and often feel it may 
not be distant. 

F. Then look upon your faults — I will not say 
crimes, for I trust you are purer yet than some — 
yet look, and consult j^our better judgment; do 
not suffer yourself to pass an evil deed unnoticed ; 
see to it that you cause no one to grieve ; do noth- 
ing your conscience shall rebuke ; look back on 
deeds already passed ; think often of your dying 
Lord, and all the love and magnitude of Jehovah ; 
think of a spotless life, a hopeful death, where the 
light of heavenly love can fill e'en the dying cham- 
ber with her halo sheen, and make her death damp 
wholesome as the morning dew. 

C. I feel rebuked — what shall I do ? 

F. Seek God through faith, and he in mercy 
never will be deaf. Disband each thought that 
brings a cloud o'er conscience, and those loose 
deeds by which thy heart is lumbered up will soon 
remove where fruits for heaven will spring till all 
your acts by grand cement be joined to holiness 
and love. 

C. Then will I grasp your hand. Already I 
feel that God 's been dealing with my heart. Good 
morning. 

F, Good morning. Heaven bless you and 
nerve your heart. 



L SOLILOQUr. 81 



A SOLILOQUY. 

While straying o'er tlie woes of life 
And quaintly viewing all its strife, 

With sympathy I'm moved ; 
For, with the vices of the age, 
We're prone to blot the future page, 

For this the past has proved. 

For where has pride e'er been inflate. 
Where sin it did not quick instate 

To propagate its kind 1 
Who does not of this worldly strife 
Compound the mysteries of his life, 
Or be to folly joined 1 

Who loves his neidibor as himself, 
Or who has not some secret pelf 
Or project still to move? 
Who does another's faults reprove, 
And still that erring spirit love, 

An aching heart to soothe ? 

O, churlish nature ! how we swerve, 
Lest acts of sympathy should serve 
To blight some vain self-love ; 



82 THE WILD poet's REST. 

If I could ape another's whim, 
And in a broader channel swim, 
I could their flattery share. 

She that nobly acts must nobly feel, 
And friendship true must still reveal 

A nature kind and rare ; 
So I must write just what I think, 
And from those thoughts I ne'er can shrink, 

Or clothe them in disguise. 

So if my theme be quaint or sad, 
E'en should you think me fool, or mad, 

Or taken by surprise ; 
I must dole forth in strains of thought, 
Just as 'tis from the fountain brought, 

Or purified from theme. 

For subject matter, themes and things 
Must share the fate of men and kings. 

And time must bear them helice ; 
Whether I am sad, or grave, or gay, 
'Tis all a prattle by the way. 
To swell this tide along. 

Yet I a stream would still maintain, 
That would my heart of folly drain, 
And swell with worth my song ; 



APRIL 16TH, 1852. 83 

As justice sympathy and truth, 
Has been the watchword of my youth, 
So may it guide me still. 

And, as meek grace has claimed a part, 
To cleanse and purify my heart, 

May love those chambers fill — » 
And when my flight of time is o'er, 
To peaceful realms let me soar, 

To drink in soft delight. 



APRIL 16tli, 1852. 
Varying seasons, marked with wonder. 

As onward to old age they roll, 
Till o'er the weary pulse of nature 

Time can scarcely hold control. 

Varying seasons and scenes too varying, 
In fleet succession on the wing ; 

Snow-flakes trespass on our borders, 
Whence the daffodills should spring. 

And still dread winter seems to linger, 
As if some boding ill was nigh. 

For in her searching frosty breezes, 
Naught but winter seems to sigh. 



84 THE WILD rOEx's REST. 

Yet, when we turn to ages by-gone, 
We seem to chide our unbelief, 

And wander back o'er pages sacred 
Through faith to guide us to relief. 

Seed time and harvest is the promise, 
Day and night shall test my love, 

And, to replenish weary nature, 

Summer and winter shall in turn revolve. 



AN APPEAL TO THE MIND. 

Come, mind, absolve some secret gift, 
And let thy gems of thought pour forth. 

For in thy vestibule of song. 

The recreant fancy shares its growth. 

Though wild from thence each strain is brought, 
And discords harsh assail the ear, 

Within her love-pent cells the soul 
Will vibrate strains to nature dear. 

And in imagination's shield 

Will lull each fancied pang of thought, 



AN APPEAL TO THE MIND. 85 

And gentle whispers soft -will steal, 

'Though with love's message ever fraught. 



Comej calm this burning strife within? 
And lave once more this feverish brow 



And deep within my ravished soul 
Instate once more thy sacred vow. 

The poet's pen with genial fire 

May light o'er earth the seraph's course, 
And from the innate depths of mind 
Praw forth an ever living source. 

But still the soul must be inspired 
With an unbounded, lively hope, 

To bear it o'er this earth's cold waste, 
Which must through ages onward scope. 

Come, let thy streams of love long pent 
Pour forth in lucid torents free, 

Till in immortal bliss of thought 
Is formed of love a boundless sea. 



86 THE WILD poet's REST. 



ON SLANDER. 

0. Slander ! when will tliy hideous surge roll 
back to overwhelm the baleful agitators of thy 
deadly scourge ? For surely the blight of earth 
and curse of Grod must signalize the slanderer's 
doom, unless averted by repentance sincere and 
heartfelt. For, of all the evils that beset us here 
below, the infamous tongue of slander is most des- 
picable in its effects. We may screen ourselves 
against a murderous assault, may secure our treas- 
ures against the midnight marauder of our premi- 
ses, may by alertness escape the grasp of the as- 
sassin, by caution secure ourselves against the de- 
vastating contagion of disease and premature de- 
cay ; but to the slanderer's infamous blight, howev- 
er reluctantly, we must submit, till the unrelenting 
disturbers of our peace are arrested in their mad 
career by the interposing hand of Jehovah. For 
if the slanderer has acquired a dislike for your ap- 
loearance, or an envy for your position, or a mis- 
apprehension of your motive, all the honor and 
honesty of his better nature is smothered in a de- 



ON SLANDER, 8T 

terrained purpose to carry out his design. He 
conveys his ideas and ill collected objections to 
the thoughtless rabble ; from thence 'tis conducted 
to the aspirant and would-be called worthy ; — 
whence, with the most unhesitating scruples, it is 
adopted by the worthy, without ever investigating 
the character or intention of the victimized suffer- 
ers, till they are weighed down with affliction and 
disgrace ; then who will esteem the effort com- 
mendable to restore them to society, even should 
they not be found wanting in all the essentials of 
religion and virtue. We need not cite the wis- 
dom of the age in which we live, nor call to mind 
the follies of the past, nor brand with infamy in the 
association of imagination a panting future, to 
bring proof of the deadly phenomena, nor seek for 
it among the fallen of the earth, or in low places? 
for the superficial great and the professing good 
have chosen it as a stepping-stone to greatness 
— and we every day see people having no virtue to 
recommend them, or smothering it, if they have, 
for the sake of rearing an eminence from some one 
or other they can contrive to put down to base a 
temporary distinction upon, to elevate them for a 
time to something .superior to themselves. And 



88 THE WILD poet's rest. 

scarcely do any escape tlie miglity and multiply- 
ing rabble that join to mingle in this most shame- 
ful scourge, forgetting that while they point the 
finger of scorn at others, that they themselves are 
the very outlaws of a crime that has long been de- 
servedly condemned ; forgetful that he that sin- 
neth in one point is guilty of the whole. But we 
need not quote from Divinity on the gracious ex- 
amples of a too often crucifed Saviour — these sub- 
jects have become too commonplace among them. 
Neither cite any of the just denunciations of this 
crime — their hearts, I fear, have become callous 
to the impression of admonition. And do we not" 
often see them cut down in the midst of their cor- 
rupt machinations, yet bearing no warning to oth- 
ers who follow them with a lofty tread to that 
narrow place where they must of necessity rest 
from their folly and arrogance, turning to tread 
the same elevated ground that has sustained its 
fallen occupants, and fearlessly following on in the 
same course of wickedness and folly, till they are 
arrested by the interposing hand of Jehovah ? — 
Blaspheming his sacred covenants by associating 
themselves with His grace and love, and as it were 
perjuring their very souls by openly transgressing 



ON SLANDER. 89' 

the very commandments tliey have subscribed to, 
and repudiating the holy examples of a Saviour ; 
often securing themselves from merited justice by 
the machinations of falsehood, or screening beneath 
the purity of Christian charit}?-, to the great dis- 
comfort of their humble brethren? Still popular 
this baleful sin is destined to be appreciated by 
the unthinking, who are caught in its unwary trap- 
pings as lovers of a present pastime. 

0, ye that on profession of your faith do deign 
to make profession of love and meekness, and 
Christian charity, how do ye stand accused when 
in your lonely meditations within the home of 
prayer you do attempt to bear your pleadings 
hence for mercy ; asking God to forgive you as 
you forgive others, with the sentiment swelling in 
your bosom of ail your weak accountabilities to 
man? 



90 THE WILD FOEt's REST 

STILL m ARE BROTnERS. 

Brother, do not turn aside 

To shun a sin-sick soul, 
While o'er his weary aching heart, 

Friendship can hold control 

What if his crimes be dark and foul 
Or sin has steeled his heart, 

For Jesus loves a sin-sick soul 
O, ne'er from him depart. 

Who knows hut gentle words may guide 

Him to a fount of love, 
And to the hapless wanderers heart, 

The joys of heaven may prove. 

Perchance the heart from fortune's blight 
Has got enshrined and cold. 

And, too. when fortune proudly smiled, 
It might have been too bold. 

Mayhap an ossifying change 
Had formed around the heart. 

And Jesus is swelling the sin-sick soul, 
This cartilage to part. 



A MEDITATION. 

Virtue 'S a plant within the breast 
AVhich must be braced and wed, 

And from some kindred earthly source 
It must be sustained and fed. 

Christ has His bless'd example left 
That sin should be forgiven : 

Beware you forfeit not his love — 
It is the light of heaven. 

Though he a kinsman may not be, 

Allied by blood nor ftime, 
Yet he a blessed Redeemer had 

To cleanse his soul from stain. 

And him a mother once held dear. 
And smiled her son to press, 

And all that mother ever had 
As brothers Christ may bless. 



91 



A MEDITATION. 
O man, in beauty and for love 
God did thee consecrate above, 
And in his love-pent bosom He 
Did form thee, independent, free, 
To make thee blessed and good ; 



92 THE WILD POET'S REST. 

That thou might of earth's joys partak®, 
And all its sorrows learn to hate — 
That in that joyous peaceful realm 
His heavenly love should thee o'erwhelin 
Like a refreshing flood. 

The love in His rich bosom pent 

A living Sacrifice has sent. 

That all, through faith in Jesus' love, 

Should drink His joys and reign above 

In an eternal day. 
Go taste the fount of that pure life, 
That will thy bosom ease from strife. 
Inflate thy mind and swell thy soul, 
Beyond the power of sin's control, 
And bear it e'en away. 

The brightest jewels were not made 
For those in sable weeds portrayed, 
And sparkling wit does seldom cling 
To those whence noble virtues spring. 

To elevate the soul ; 
But as the dews in jewels bright, 
Hang clustering 'neath the damps of »ight, 
So gathers freshness in the breast, 



THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 93 

Where love must every virtue test, 
And still the mind control. 

We view poured forth the copious flood 
Of all save that extremely good, 
For which frail man impoverished lies, 
And half the charms of life denies. 

To satiate his pride. 
Blessed is the soul when she can feel 
The joys of heaven within revealed. 
And that true light of beaming love 
Which Jesus gives to own above, 

To crown his hallowed brides 



THE DEVOTED BRIBE. 

Come draw me a picture to my heart congenial, 

And let me in the distance hide ; 
For the scene I would have presented 

Is the inspiration of the youthful bride. 

Give her in all her angelic beauty. 

With the spotless robes and the jewels bright, 

With her marble brow and placid features, 

E'en the heart of stoic to delight. 

f2 



94 THE WILD poet's REST. 

Reclining pensive be her position 

With the brilliant rays of the light of love, 
Transfixed to that heavenly circling diadem, 

Each bearing the purity of her soul above. 

An angel hovering, pointing to blessings. 
And doling secretly of sorrow too, 

Lest in imaginative fancy 

She soar from earth, angels to woo. 



TO MRS. FRANCES BRIGGS. 

ON THE DEATH OF HER. CHILD. 

Weep not that the flower on thy bosom thus 
reared, 

By the rude blasts of fortune has never been 
seared. 

It has gone, and the sorrow that 's swelling that 
sound, 

Will linger on dreamy o'er that quiet mound. 

Yet 't will spring up to glory in eternity's years, 

Eor earth must be verdant, moistened with sor- 
row's pure tears, 



A PAKArilKASE. 95 

And angels will foster this oifspring of love, 

And your bless'd Redeemer adopt it above. 

Dear Frances, kind accents I'd breathe through 

your soul, 

But I feel that no sympathy your heart can control. 

But listen in faith both tranquil and mild, 

To Jesus in love-tones adopting your child. 

I feel this rude cavity in your frail bosom cleft, 

I feel this sad blight from the world's glory reft, 

I feel this deep wound, and 'tis sad but to feel. 

When my own heart so well knows it never can 
heal. 



A PARAPHRASE 

ON THE 7th chapter OF MATTHEW. 

O for a consciousness within, 
That I a dying mortal speak ; 

And I a dying world address, 

And meekness from my Saviour seek. 

Then should I swell each note of love. 

And bless each weary anxious heart, 

Each waning hope I would improve, 

And strive with every sin to part. 
f3 



96 THE WILD poet's REST. 

Then with a telescopic eye, 

My own rash faults I'd quickly scan, 
Leave all the judgment to my God, 

For he can deal in love with man. 



I would not give my pearls to swine — 
Ah, feel reproved for fear that I 

Should make display of something pure, 
That quiet in my heart should lie. 

God says to every creature, ask 
And I will of my grace impart, 

And will a secret joy infuse, 

Which shall like torrents swell the heart. 

For, if the evil of your hearts 

Will teach you precious gifts to give, 

Will Jesus when His children plead 
Refuse to let a sinner live ? 

Then whatsoever you would wish 
That man should do to you, in love 

Do ye the same them before, 
For this the holy prophets prove. 



A ^AE A PHRASE; 9T 

Enter ye the straight and narrow path, 
But do not strive to choke the wajj 

For many meek and humble souls 
Will travel here you can't delay. 

Beware of prophets false and vain. 
Who only strive to deal with man, 

Jesus the Lamb must guide you homCj 
'Twas for redemption he was slain. 

Now ye shall know them by their fruit, 

Yet trust till it is fully ripe, 
Then meekness should your judgments share, 

Lest sorrow ±o some heart you strike. 

But when you_^find the tree corrupt, 
Just move its branches from j'our soil, 

For it will cumber up the space, 

Although the ground it might not spoil 

Not all that rudely speak my name. 

Will I for blessing ever hear. 
For if they profit not through faith, 

They cannot by their works come near. 



98 THE WILD pokt's rest. 

For wlioso hearetli of my word, 
And listeth not to build thereon, 

Him will I liken to a fool, 

Wliicli built liis house upon the sand. 

And wlien those hearing what I say, 
Shall meekly to my standard flock, 

In wisdom I shall liken them 
To those that built ujion a rock. 



THANKFULNESS. 

God ! how I thank Thee for this sweet re- 
tirement from all the vain turmoils and follies of 
life. What sweet communion refreshes my whole 
heart. Not retirement from business, but from all 
the vanity and turmoils of strife and popularity,, 
which through frailty, I might, mayhap, as well as 
many others, have fallen into. How does my heart 
expand with undulating love, which vibrates to' 
love of life and all the charms beyond its ice-bound 
shores. Yea, the day has dawned when tranquil- 
ity call cheer my soul, and in the distance omens 



TTIANKFULNESS. 99 

of pure jo3''S to come. I have tasted deep the cup 
of bitter woe, but God does not willingly chastise ; 
I feel the arm beneath, which has sustained the 
darkening cloud that hung with crushing w^eight 
to blight my worldly hope. But, 'tis only through 
adversity that I've been brought to feel the joys 
that cluster near my heart, and by the woes of life 
have learned to multiply the joys. How I bless 
the nameless love of heaven, that I was not for- 
saken by myself. How often, at the suspension of 
«very hope, I mourned not, wished not, anticipated 
nothing ; almost as it were letting go of life, look- 
ing steadily on the eclipsed glory of my little uni- 
verse of circumstances, till some cloud would 
break away — then with what trembling joy I 
seized again on life and hope, and from my weary 
soul the gladsome song of humble thanks that I'd 
been spared from wicked desecrations, warbled 
forth till all within was peace and love. Then 
with what thankful praj'-er I made my weak amend 
for all God's care and kind sustaining grace and 
wisdom to protect. 



100 



THE SUNBEAM. 
As once to write I had prepared. 
With cheerful fire and room well aired^ 
A sunbeam o'er my paper strayed, 
And, as it danced, my hand I laid 
To hide its brilliant hues. 

But instantly it rose above, 
In my sad aching heart to prove, 
That all within my bosom swelled, 
Would yet through time by love propelled, 
Burst forth beyond control. 

So 'tis with mind both true and pure, 
Naught can it from its beauty lure, 
Its jewels bright must be portrayed, 
True as the dancing sunbeam played 
Above a withered hand. 

That seraph fire that lights the soul, 
Will burst and burn beyond control, 
As sunbeams o'er the waters roll, 
A.nd will that inner fire unfold, 
To light our paths to heaven. 



Al'KIL 20TII, 18G2. . 101 

Tliongli jarriug discord lierc, and strife, 
May triumph o'er tins waning life, 
Christ gives a joy within the soul, 
Which like the sunbeam lights the whole, 
And never can be strayed. 



APRIL mi, mi 

Still winter lingers, rather waning 
In the unconscious lap of spring, 
And many agonizing struggles 
Every day essays to bring. 

Sometimes smiles like one departing, 
Doth expand the angry brow ; 

Yet with her hardy rigid nature, 
Winter could not yield till now. 

Now the panting struggle 's over — 
Though waning, yet she may not leave, 

Yet the friends we're now consoling, 
May give vent and nobly grieve. 



il32 THE WILD poet's REST. 

For the Prince has sent His offspring, 
Although in infant strength he comes^ 

He will give His balmy fragrance 
To our exiled snowstorm's home. 



TO LADY FMNKLIN. 

Lady dear, thy heart's pure anguish 

Sorrows deep in mine awake, 
And I linger on in sadness, 

Of thy joys to yet partake. 

Oft I linger, hope despairing, 

Then I nerve my heart again, 
Still to wait while chance is sharing, 

In thy bosom rent with pain. 

Does the God of Wisdom strengthen 

That pure nerve which naught can blight/ 

Or has he sealed thy doom in mercy, 
In a never ending night ? 

Nay, I feel it swell my bo.som, 
God Would not inflate thy mind j 



TO LADY FRANKLIN. 103 

Instinct forms the tie of nature, 
To thy fate be yet resigned. 

I see thee bow thy head desponding, 
By that pure light instinct reveals, 

Then see thee roused again to action, 
By a power thy love conceals. 

But when all thy hopes are waning 
And Jesus gives thee peace within. 

By promise he will give in mercy, 
That pure spirit free from sin. 

For God will spare the unbelieving, 
Though far remote, companion dear. 

When the heart of wife is yearning, 
Between pure hope and boding fear. 

Then yield thy will to His resigning, 

He will with joy thy bosom fill, 
And with tones of blessed redemption, 

Jesus every nerve will thrill 



104 THE WILD poet's REST, 



LOTE YOUR ENEMIES. 

Set not thy face against a foe, 

Lest in his secret heart, 
He feel relenting sorrow too, 

And Jesus hear a part. 

For we may often entertain 

Some angel in diguise, 
That to the naked wondering soul, 

Might take ns hy surprise. 

Take heed, that Jesus does not say, 
When you present your claim. 

Whence are you then, I know not you, 
I never had your name. 

O, we have set within thy courts. 

In sumptuous array, 
And many a sin-sick, dirty soul, 

Lord, we have kept away. 

Then shall He say to you, depart, 
It is the poor I love, 



CONSCIENCK. 105 



Ye cannot in m}^ sacred courts 



Be registered above. 



Beware that grace is not a name 
To shield you in your pride, 

For, in the courts of heavenly love, 
Each sin will be descried. 



CONSCIENCE. 

Doubting' faith still seems to linger 

In the recreant breast of man, 
Don't believe it, is the answer 

From the multifarious clan ; 
I can read of men and matter, 

Deceptions, fraud, and unbelief, 
But to read of things eternal 

Haunts my soul with secret grief 

And they tell me of the poet. 
And heavenly inspiration love. 

But this is borrowed from great authors, 
Our inward sympathies to move ; 



106 THE WILD poet's REST. 

They treat me of celestial glories, 

Above, beneath and out of sight, 
And these recreant descriptions 
Haunt my fancies day and night. 

But 'tis all a lucid figure, 

Borrowed from the works of men ; 
But these works have had a being, 

Where, 0, how, who from, and when 1 
Has not God, through man portraying 

All his works to be divine, 
Formed within a seat for glory, 

For these beauties so sublime ? 

Has not he through ages dreary, 

Strengthened us through grace and love ? 
And does he not the secret conscience 

Prompt to seek his courts above ? 
Yes ; and the poet's recreant fancy 

Fans the flame of inward hope, 
And gives this glory inexpressible. 

No earthly joy could with it scope. 

But 'tis folly to believe them. 

For it's deceptive, fickle, vain, 
They tread within those haunts of fancy, 



NATURE AND SPRING MORNING. 107 

Just for pride, applause and gain. 
Nay, there's something whispers near me, 

There is a heaven and sacred love, 
That there 's a God and a Redeemer, 

Angels and light, and heaven above. 



NATURE AND SPRING MORNING. 

O, sleeping, waking, bursting nature ! what 
dost thou not portray, to captivate the longing, 
insatiate, loving, hating, laughing, sorrowing, 
proud, prolific heart of man ? Image of his own 
redundant nature, always ready to bring forth love 
or hate, or rouse the bickering of strife or envy, or 
jealousy, to foster murderous designs or that pure 
extatic bliss which twines through systems to the 
love of heaven to animate his soul, and too, at 
times to let him taste the wonders of a Deity.-*- 
Come forth to this glad heart, and humble as it feels 
and small within, yet let it taste thy joys. In the 
first pure note that rises on the waking breath of 
morn doth faintly come the gladsome soun d of spring. 
Come verdant herbs, and clothe the earth again 



lOS TIIK WILD rUET's REST. 

that nature laugh once more in gay attire. And 
flowerSj transcendent beauty of the life that vegeta- 
tion wears, come forth and breathe again the health- 
ful breath of summer morn, that thy pure balmy 
fragrance may dance once more beneath the dews 
of night. Then dewy night beneath the mantling 
heavens combine with earth again and gentle show- 
ers, and then commute and spare the weary hand 
and watchful brow that screened thy beauties from 
the frost of death, and let us share the riches of 
thy proud prolific wealth. Where are the secret 
chambers that lock thy beauties from the eyes of 
man, Nature 1 

Again I bid the iirst-born youth of winter's 
aged mother come. ^'^J, twain of earth, for thou 
wast formed to propagate thy kind, and in thy 
youthful prattle many rich melodies are joined to 
form the gladsome song of life with thee. The 
hum of human voices, the song of birds, the quick- 
timed music of the insect's tiny voice, the baying 
canine race from great to small, and cats and kits 
and children dear, and cooing of the doves — and 
winds that in the jetty angles of the haunts of men 
may strike a harsher note as if in voice of nature 
there must be passion too, to make her wisdom 



A'ATUREAXD SPRING MORNING, lOO 

tremble 'neatli its tottering throne. Then from 
this din to rouse how gladly can we hail the tran- 
quil sunny morn of Spring with her jewels bright 
arrayed. Her showers too, and after then her look 
of youth, and budding promise for sustaining life. 
That man may linger on till the day may come 
when he may feast his soul on anticipation's joys 
for never-ending Spring. Eternity, how long, 
where angel songs will glad our hearts, and the 
rich halo sheen of Heaven will ever be the fra- 
grance of the morn, and where redeeming love 
will amply crown the glory of the whole. 

0, healthful morn ! still bear me on, although 
not joyous as when the sunny morn of youth did 
smile to give me welcome ; yet with a gladsome 
heart, and as the wayside stream doth pass along, 
so let me pass, mingling the rays of hope that light 
my soul with other streams of love, more fitful 
still to bear us on, till in a fount of boundless love, 
transparent as the light of Heaven, we form a 
crystal lake, whose waters strife will never more 
essay to move. 



110 DISAPPOINTMENT. 

DISAPPOINTMENT. 

I have felt all worldly sorrows, 

Tasted grief in all its forms ; 
Have drunk too deep of pride and folly. 

Have lived too long, amid life's storms ; 
And, as I've gazed on all its wonders, 

Let me look within my breast. 
To see if all v/ithin enacted, 

Scrutinized, would bear the test. 

And then, within some secret chamber, 

Let me by myself remain. 
While I view the dear deception 

Which is reapt from worldly gain. 
And when the great may think me weary, 

From their fancied pure neglect, 
Let me, solaced by reflection, 

From their pride no more expect. 

But the poor, when they're afflicted, 

Let me linger o'er their grief, 
And as far as love and counsel, 

Let me give them sweet relief — 
Yet when they shall cease to love me, 

And may wish me to depart ; 
May I, in dread dismay beguiling, 

Seal my sorrows in my heart. 



CONTENTS. 



Anticipation and Frailties, « ► - - 23 

A Sentiment, - - 26 

Anticipation, -------27 

A Cheerful Disposition. ----- 40 

A Retrospect, -51 

A Dialogue, - - - - - r - 75 

A Soliloquy, -"- 81 

April 16th, 1852, * 83 

An Appeal to the Mind, 84 

A Meditation, 91 

A Paraphrase, - - 95 

April 20th, 1852, 101 

Contemplation, - - - - - - 5 

Contemplating a Divorce, . - - - 33 
Conscience, ,_.-►-- 105 

Disappointment, . - - - - 31-110 

Despondency, -------55 

Essay, 11 

Fate, 46 

Happiness and Friendship, - - - - 17 

Hope,- 45-74 

Hope and Trust in God, - - - - 52 
Human Nature, - 63 



111. 



CONTENTS. 



Introduction, 3 

Live and Let Lire, - 50 

Love your Enemies, - - - - - lOi 

Morning Contemplation, 28 

My Flowers, 72 

Nature and Spring Morning, - - - - 107 
On the Nativity and Crucifixion of Christ, - 24 

Of the Mind, 67 

On Slander, - 86 

Pride, - - - - - - - - 20 

Reminiscences of Youth, - - - - G 

Reflections, - - - - - - - 44 

Still we are Brothers, 90 

The Poet Fire, 19 

Thoughts, 29 

To Mrs. De Kroyft, - - - - - - 62 

The Dream, C5 

The Devoted Bride, 93 

To Mrs. Frances Briggs, - - - - 94 

Thankfulness, - - - - - - 98 

The Sunbeam, - . . - - - -100 

To Lady Franklin, ^ - - . - - - 102 
WhoisGodl - - ^ - - - - - 35 

Publisher's^ Note.— The first sixty pages of this little 
work was written the first week in February, and left in 
the hands of the Printers. The remainder was written in 
April. 

Erratum.— The word "this," on page 32, should be 
"his." The word " write," on page 31, should be " rise." 
And "e'er," on the 13th page, should be "e'en." 



